On the kitchen counter I found a boat key attached to a bobber. Must be a duplicate, I thought, for that boat that looks like a piece of modern art now. I found more cigarettes, an overflowing ashtray. I found more empty beer bottles. Lousy American beer, of course.
Then I found three pill bottles. All labeled Vicodin, with all the usual warnings about mixing with alcohol or operating a vehicle or heavy machinery. Sure enough, two of the bottles had been prescribed to Caroline. They were empty. The third had been prescribed to someone named Roseanne Felise. It was still half full. Or half empty, depending on how badly you needed those pills.
I slipped the bottle into my pocket, figuring I could give it to Vinnie later. It would be a good conversation starter if he decided to pay a visit to Ms. Felise.
I found something even more interesting on the kitchen table. Someone had spread out a large map showing all the waterways between Michigan and Ontario. The Les Cheneaux Islands, the top of Lake Huron, from Mackinac Island all the way over to St. Joseph Island in Canada. The St. Marys River, up through the locks, into Whitefish Bay. It was all there, with detailed information on water depths and areas of danger.
I looked closely and saw the old bridge pilings clearly marked in Waishkey Bay. It’s a good map, guys, but it can’t help you if you don’t read it.
“Where are you right now, anyway?” I said out loud. My voice sounded strange to me in the empty house.
“And more important, how long am I gonna have to sit here until you get back?”
If they were gone for the day, I realized, I was going to be stuck here for hours. I took out my cell phone, looked at the display. It was going back and forth between a faint digital signal and a faint analog roam. I didn’t even know if Natalie would be able to reach me. If she called.
Damn, I wanted to do something, anything, so bad. But now I’d have to wait. This would drive me right over the edge.
Unless I left and came back later. Sneak back out now, come back in the evening. Damn.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wrestle with my options for long. I heard footsteps on the front porch.
“You’re here,” I said. “For once, you’re gonna do me a favor.”
I checked the gun. I got myself ready. It was showtime.
I was thinking I should let all three of them come in first. Get them all together in one confined space. I needed to hide out for a minute here…But where?
The spiral staircase, I thought. Right behind here. It’s big enough to hide me, and it’s out of the way. Perfect.
I stepped behind it and waited. My heart was a jackhammer.
Breathe, man. Just breathe. Nice and easy. You’re cold. You’re a freakin’ ice cube.
I heard them arguing outside. “How much longer we gotta stay here, huh? I’m going crazy here.” A deep voice. I was guessing it was the big guy, Brucie. “I can’t stand this fucking place.”
“I don’t even want to hear it, all right? Just shut the fuck up.”
I peeked around the edge, didn’t see any of them coming in yet. Where the hell were they?
One man came through the door. It was Cap. He opened up the refrigerator for a second, then closed it. Then he came into the main room. He was heading right for me. Still no sign of anybody else behind him.
This wasn’t the way I wanted it to work, but what the hell. It was time to improvise, and just seeing this guy’s face again…Hitting him right in the mouth would feel like Christmas.
I waited until he was about to take the first step on the stairs. There was still nobody else in the house. I switched the gun to my left hand, stepped out from behind the staircase and saw the surprise on his face for about half of one second. I was already stepping into the punch, a right hook that caught him square on the chin. It was solid enough to rattle my teeth-I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to him.
Anybody else in the world, anybody, it would have been a cheap sucker punch. But for this guy I was willing to forgive myself. He went down hard and stayed on his back, his eyes wide open. I left him there and went into the kitchen to wait for his friends.
I grabbed one of the beer bottles and waited next to the door. I heard them both coming in together. The kid was first. He still had the bandages on his head, like a turban. He was carrying a white Styrofoam cooler. The big guy Brucie came in right behind him. “Next time he tells me to shut up-,” I heard him say. He didn’t get the chance to finish it, because I shattered the beer bottle across the back of his head. A move right out of an old western, but it seemed to work. He went down about halfway, suspended there for a moment with his head between his knees. I gave him one good push with my foot, right in the backside, and sent him down on the kitchen floor. The kid stood there the whole time, still holding the cooler.
“I assume you won’t be giving me a problem here,” I said.
He nodded. That was it.
“Good. Go sit down on the couch.”
He did as he was told. Brucie started to get up on his hands and knees, so I put the gun to the back of his head. Everything Leon had said, it all came to me at once. Classic Leon stuff, but right now it was something to hold on to. Do this like it’s something I do every day, he had said, and twice on Sundays.
“You’re going to crawl over to the couch,” I said. “Nice and slow.”
“What the fuck!”
“Get going. Or would you like me to shoot you?”
He started to get up, so I gave him a boot again. He started crawling.
“That’s better. On the couch with Harry.” I looked over at the kid. He was sitting on the couch with the cooler in his lap. “That’s your name, right?”
He nodded. He was looking straight ahead. He still hadn’t said a word.
“You can put the cooler down.”
He put it down at his feet and sat back up straight. His body was so stiff he looked like a statue of a young man wearing a turban.
Bruce finally made his way to the couch and sat down next to him. Cap was starting to get up now. He was rubbing his jaw.
“You, too,” I said to him. “On the couch.”
“You’re dead. You are an absolute dead man.”
“Whatever you say. Just get on the couch.”
He pulled himself up and crossed the room.
“It’s a little cozy,” I said when they were all squeezed onto the couch. “But this won’t take long.”
I’ve seen enough men with guns in my life-the man who really gets your attention isn’t the one who holds on tight with both hands, waving it around like he’s more scared of the thing than you are. No, the man who makes your heart stop is the man who holds a gun like it’s a part of him, like it’s no more unusual to be pointing a deadly weapon at your chest than it would be to hold a cigar or a pen. That’s the effect I was going for. I was about to see if it worked.
“What the fuck do you want?” Cap said. He was still rubbing his jaw.
I pulled up one of the club chairs and sat on the edge. I rubbed a piece of lint from the barrel of the gun. “Harry, this is your father’s house, right?”
The kid flinched when I said his name.
“His summerhouse?”
He nodded.
“You’re not taking very good care of it.”
He swallowed hard. If it was possible for him to look any more miserable than he already was, he was giving it a good try.
“Is that why you came here?” Cap said, giving off so much heat he was practically glowing. “To give us housekeeping tips?”
“That’s a good line,” I said to him. “You have a natural talent.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink.
“Anybody ever shoot you before?”
Silence.
“I had it happen to me once. You want to find out how it feels?”
